*

where I’m writing from

is 4.30 in the afternoon

.

106F in the shade I inhale hot air

breathing now with relief

 .

I felt worse in latter days

I do not feel the cramps of distance

 .

listening with the greatest care to the smallest finch

right after letting out a clear thanksgiving

 .

me by myself from inside myself

stretched out happy I fly

 .

butterflies here are saffron

many and always new

 .

today I can hear the wind

moving among the palms

 .

the highest daylight stars

 .

where not even the mountain reaches

old wrinkled giant laying down

. 

tired under the hard wearing sun

looking as if crumbling

 .

sunset highlighting the folds

sweating pure spirit nothing else

 .

awe inspiring while putting thing in their right place

I do not wish to be somewhere else

.

.